


Scrooges and Setups

by shireness



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle/literally anyone else 2k17, F/M, Modern AU, awkward setups, forced volunteer Emma, meddling Mary Margaret, winter carnival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: Emma doesn't want to work Storybrooke's yearly winter carnival. She especially doesn't want to work the kissing booth. And she really really doesn't want Mary Margaret to turn this into a setup.





	Scrooges and Setups

**Author's Note:**

> A little seasonal AU featuring grouchy Emma. What can I say, I like writing her a little pissed off. Happy Holidays, and enjoy!

Emma’s neighbor, Mary Margaret, is a witch. Or a demon. A witch or a demon very focused on the holiday spirit and community service. She must be. It’s the only explanation for how Emma Swan – full time bartender, part-time hermit, and slight Scrooge – has been roped into volunteering at the Storybrooke Winter Carnival.

(Well, that and the fact that M’s said all the proceeds went to help out the local children’s home – a cause that could melt even Emma’s cold heart.

But still. Probably witchcraft too.)

Emma has volunteered – been volunteered? The technicalities are still a bit of a blur to her – but that doesn’t mean she has to be happy about it. She’ll be there, just not with rings on her fingers or bells on her toes, or whatever the kids say. She certainly won’t be wearing a Santa hat or a Christmas sweater or any of that nonsense. Mary Margaret will just have to deal.

It’s not that Emma hates Christmas, per se. She really has nothing against the holiday, it’s just not something she celebrates. Growing up in the system, she was lucky to get a new pair of shoes for Christmas. Maybe a dollar store craft set or some school supplies. As an adult, she’s never really had anyone to celebrate with. But she moved to Storybrooke back in March – just needed a change in pace, had sporadically kept in touch with Jeff after they both aged out of the system, and finally caved to his begging for her to move closer – and discovered very quickly that holidays here were a Very Big Deal. Especially when you lived next door to Mary Margaret Blanchard, local princess and holiday enthusiast.

Technically, she has the whole day off. When she asked Jeff for a few hours off from the Rabbit Hole, he had gotten very excited – “Of course Emma! It’s so great to see you getting involved! Grace and I will see you there!” – and given her much more time than she had requested. She could get to the town square early, like a respectful professional. But she doesn’t. Emma doesn’t want to go at all, so she shows up as late as she thinks she can get away with without being yelled at by the petite, pixie-d brunette.

Even Emma has to admit, the square looks great. Mary Margaret has clearly gone all out, stringing lights everywhere, all the booths decked out in candy stripes, garlands and snowflakes everything. Unfortunately, Emma barely has a moment to admire the scene before the woman herself comes rushing over. In an elf costume. Of course.

“You barely made it on time, Emma!” she scolds. Emma’s not entirely sure why – she was on time, right? As Emma contemplates this, Mary Margaret has clearly moved past her pseudo-disappointment, ushering Emma across the grass towards God-knows-where. “That’s alright, the person you’re working with is late too, it will be fine. You’ll be working right over here.”

And then M’s stops right in front of the kissing booth.

_You have got to be fucking kidding me._

No, no, it’s not enough just to think that thought. “Mary Margaret, are you kidding me? What the hell?”

At least Mary Margaret has the grace to look chastened. “Well, you see, almost everyone else has a significant other… I just thought, you’re so pretty, you could pull a lot of traffic and make a lot of money for – “ and oh God, Emma does _not_ want to hear about the kind of traffic she’ll pull.

“I need you to stop right there, Mary Margaret, before this sounds even more like you’re prostituting me out than it already feels.”

At least she has the decency to look slightly ashamed.

Looking around the room, Emma sees a crowd of people with better jobs than her. David is at the arcade games, taking tickets; Regina is manning the silent auction table; Robin is making a valiant effort at the cotton candy stand. Ruby and Belle even get to work together, selling pie – both the ones made by Granny and the more questionable products of Belle’s recent cookbook explorations. Meanwhile, she’s stuck here. At the kissing booth. Where she has to kiss people.

“It won’t be that bad,” Mary Margaret tries to reason. “You won’t even have to kiss everyone! We set it up on a wheel, and only half the options it lands on are for a kiss! The rest are for, like, Granny’s coupons and free arcade tickets. And there’s another person too! So, you know, that’s not so bad, right?”

Emma wants to scream, wants to cuss Mary Margaret out, but the fact of the matter is that she can’t say no to the sweet teacher’s cherub face. So she’s left weakly nodding, as Mary Margaret beams.

“Wonderful! Thank you so much for doing this, Emma, you won’t regret it! Now, you can take two 15 minute breaks as long as your booth partner is still here, it’s a dollar per spin, and doors open in fifteen minutes. Great? Great!”

Mary Margaret is officially a whirlwind of enthusiasm and Emma has no idea how she’s gotten pulled in. Again, probably witchcraft. She thinks the worst is over, she hears M’s pipe up one more time.

“Oh! Here’s your booth partner now! Killian, over here!”

And when Emma thought things couldn’t get worse, she was wrong, because M’s looks far too innocent and yet, at the same time, smug, to not be up to something.

A man – Killian, must be – veers in their direction, and Emma realizes in a horrible moment of clarity that today isn’t just forced merriment and community service, isn’t just being roped into working a kissing booth. No. This is a damned setup.

Emma could kill her neighbor. She really could.

“Killian, it’s so good to see you! This is Emma, she’ll tell you all about how this works. I think David needs something, I’ll see you both later!”

And then she bolts. The witch.

To his credit, this Killian does look a little confused. Emma almost feels bad for him. “I take it she didn’t tell you where you’d be working, either?”

He scratches behind his ear – somewhat adorably, at that.

(No, not adorably. She resents Mary Margaret’s efforts to meddle. She will not be charmed by this man who’s been shoved in her direction.)

“Er… not as much, no. I actually figured I’d be working with my brother.”

She’s not particularly interested, but this whole situation is bad enough as it is. There’s no need to add an awkward silence to make things worse. So instead, she asks the obvious question. “Your brother?”

He practically beams, and Emma hopes she hasn’t encouraged him too much. “Yeah, my brother, Liam. He and his fiancé are over working the snow cone station.”

Sure enough, glancing over, she sees a tall, curly-headed man with Killian’s eyes handling the cash box as a slender blonde works the ice shaver with gusto. As she turns a skeptical eye back to Killian, he shrugs.

“I know, it looks awfully unchivalrous, but would you believe me if I said she insisted? Says it’s a good place to work out her stress. Elsa’s actually got arms of steel under that fleece.”

Emma can only hum in return. She’s fine, now to let things fall into silence, but her new booth partner jumps back in. “I’m Killian Jones, by the way. Work down at the docks. And you are…?”

“Emma. Swan. Bartender.” She quickly remembers the instructions M’s tasked her with. “I guess it’s a buck to spin the wheel, and we get two fifteen minute breaks, whenever you want, as long as I’m here to be in charge.”

He nods. “Simple enough.” But suddenly – maybe it’s because she put him at ease, letting talk about his brother – she can just _see_ him put on an attitude. “What do you say, love? Want to practice kissing before the crowds get here?”

And _ugh_ , she remembers why she doesn’t do set ups.

This is going to _suck_.

\------

It becomes quickly obvious that Emma and Jones have very different strategies for the day.

Emma’s plan was to sit slouched in one of the provided chairs, generally looking unenthusiastic and discouraging any traffic. Killian, on the other hand, has taken up the role of a carnival barker, bringing in a steady stream of traffic.

“Having fun yet, Swan?” he offers after the first half hour. Emma can only glare.

\------

She was right. This fucking _sucks_.

Ok, not all of it is bad. A troop of Mary Margaret’s second graders came through, and it was very cute how the little boys blushed when she planted one on their cheeks. And it was hilarious seeing one particularly bold little girl pull Killian down to plant one on him, instead of the other way around.

However, with the good, comes the bad. The very, very bad, in the form of Leroy.

Emma doesn’t normally have issues with Leroy – he’s a bit cantankerous, sure, but so is Emma, and he tips decently whenever he’s at the Rabbit Hole. Which is often.

But today, he seems bound and determined to test Emma’s patience. In the two and a half hours the carnival’s been running, he’s come by the booth three times, and is now approaching for a fourth. And, of course, he’s landed the wheel on a kiss every time. Bastard. If he lands on kiss a fourth time, he’s not getting a smooch – he’s getting a knee to the balls.

The universe truly must have it out for her today, because he does land on a kiss again. Of fucking course. She watches, practically in slow motion, as Leroy leans in, and with a feeling of dread, Emma just _knows_ that he’s going for the lips this time. She braces herself, ready to punch him or knee him or something else violent… when Killian swoops in and pecks him on the cheek.

“There you go, Leroy, a nice smooch. You enjoy the rest of your afternoon!”

Leroy sputters, but stalks off as Emma just looks at Killian with confusion – and wonder.

“Uh… thanks. I think. I could have taken care of that, but thanks.”

He chuckles. “Oh, I’m perfectly aware of that, darling, I just thought I’d spare you the trouble and scraped knuckles. Let’s just hope that nuisance doesn’t come back.”

(And when Leroy does start making his way over, another fifteen minutes later, Emma happily takes Killian up on his suggestion that she take advantage of one of her breaks.)

\------

Emma takes the opportunity during her break to go talk to Ruby and Belle. Not only can Ruby catch her up on any gossip there might be about Jones (because mark her words, that man is a mystery), but she can probably weasel some pie out of them to boot. She needs food, after all.

As she approaches the ladies, it’s a struggle not to laugh at Belle’s forlorn look – seemingly over her poor culinary attempts.

“Of course they taste fine, babe!” she overhears Ruby placate as she approaches. “They just… well, they’re not the prettiest. But so tasty, and isn’t that what matters?”

Emma has to admit, Belle’s pies do look a little bit of a mess next to Granny’s masterpieces, what with their deflating meringues and messy, torn up crusts and lattices. Emma takes pity on the poor woman and orders a hefty piece of the Boston crème pie. (It is actually pretty good, looks aside.)

Newly distracted by Emma’s presence, Ruby turns to her with a wolfish grin and a waggle of the eyebrows. “So, I see Mary Margaret walked you right into a set up again. At least he’s good looking.”

Belle has a more concerned look on her face. Really, some days it’s a wonder how her and Ruby’s relationship works so well. “You be nice to him, Emma. He’s a lovely man, more sensitive than he lets on.”

That perks Emma’s attention. “You know him, then? What can you tell me?”

Ruby smirks. “Oh, we know him alright. Comes into the diner for coffee every weekday morning, volunteers at the library Saturday afternoons. He’s the harbormaster, I think, whatever the hell that means.”

It’s nice to hear the information that Ruby has, but these kinds of details are a little useless to Emma. She could follow him around for week if she wanted his schedule. “C’mon, Ruby, what’s the gossip? What’s he like? I can’t get a proper read on this guy. “

Ruby pauses to think for a moment before delivering her information with almost business-like efficiency. “He’s… careful, I guess. Does everything with purpose, like he’s thought it through. Likes to fancy himself a gentleman, even when he’s playing up that cocky flirty thing, and for the most part it’s true. Positively devoted to his brother, nearly to the point of hero worship. Rumor is he was engaged a few years back, before he and his brother showed up in Storybrooke, but it’s anyone’s guess what happened there.”

Belle takes the opportunity to cut in. “I mean it, Emma, be careful with him. He’s a really good guy, and even if he doesn’t want to admit it, he deserves a lot more than your usual one and done.”

It’s a lot to process. But her break is almost over, her pie is long since gone, and Emma has to work her way back to her own personal hell – the damned kissing booth.

\------

Jones looks disturbingly smug as she walks back over, making Emma more nervous than she’d like to admit. “What are you smirking at?” she grumbles, sliding back into her seat.

If anything, that only makes the smirk grow. “Oh, nothing. Just observing you ladies talking about me.”

It’s infuriating, really, how he’s able to read her like that. All the same, she has a near compulsive need to not let on how right he is. “How do you know that’s what we were talking about? For all you know, we were talking about pie. Some of Belle’s efforts are real shockers.”

He scoffs. “Please, I saw all the glances cast my way. It’s quite alright, darling, I don’t mind. Though it would have been much simpler just to ask me your questions. So, what did they tell you?”

She should just keep her mouth shut, but Emma is fully entrenched in her defensive stance. “Who says I learned anything?”

“Please, Swan, don’t insult my intelligence. Anyways, don’t I have the right to know?”

She sighs. Jeez, the man can wear her down. “You know, just the basic. You volunteer at the library, love your brother, have some fancy job at the docks. That kind of thing. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Ah, the basics,” he replies in a mock-serious tone with a lift of his eyebrows. “And did you get all the answers you wanted?”

Emma shrugs, for lack of a better answer. Unfortunately, Jones seems to take that as encouragement.

“Well, as I’m sure you’ve learned, I hold the very official-sounding job of harbormaster, which usually means I’d be in charge of monitoring incoming shipments, but since this is Storybrooke, it mostly means I collect the monthly docking fees and try to pay attention to whether everyone makes it back safely at night. I do have a brother, who is an absolutely insufferable git but who I love anyways, and who I have a minor hero complex towards. I’m working on it. I am also working on various insecurity and self-confidence issues, as well as a former over-dependence on alcohol to ignore my problems. In my spare time, I read far too many murder mysteries, dream about purchasing my own ship, and am desperately trying to keep a houseplant alive long enough to be comfortable adopting a dog. Does that about cover things?”

She nods mutely. Really, it’s the most thorough introduction she could have hoped for.

“Excellent.”

They work in silence for a few more minutes, collecting a few more dollars and distributing a few more kisses, before Emma interrupts their pattern.

“Ruby said you used to be engaged?”

It’s like a sudden, icy wall crashes down over his expression. “Yes. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time I took one of my breaks.”

And he stalks off in the direction of the snow cone stand, leaving Emma wondering just what the hell she’s done.

\------

It’s a little fascinating, watching the brothers Jones interact. There’s so clearly an older sibling/younger sibling dynamic between the two, the way Liam puts on a look of patient exasperation while Killian rants, and then Killian looks chastened while Liam calmly replies. Eventually, the younger just slumps and collapses in on himself as the elder rubs his back comfortingly. Emma doesn’t have a sibling – the closest thing she has is Jeff, thanks to three years of being in the same group home and then the same school, where he looked after her in his own eccentric way. It’s truly interesting to her, watching the way these two interact, seeing what a sibling relationship can be like and should be like. It’s almost enough to ignore the frequent glances thrown in her direction.

Inevitably, she gets distracted by the carnival-goers, and by the time she can turn her attention elsewhere again, Jones is wandering back to the booth, visibly less tense. Whatever Liam had to say must have been damn effective. As he approaches, his hand raises to scratch behind his ear, like some kind of nervous habit.

“I trust that Leroy didn’t bother you in my absence?”

Emma shrugs in return. “Nah, he stayed away. Think he discovered Sister Astrid at the hand-dipped candle booth, poor thing.”

“Good, good.” He shifts on his feet, looking uncomfortable, like he’s trying to find some difficult words. “Look, I’m sorry I reacted the way I did, and then ran off and left you to the wolves. Bad form, that. It’s just… I don’t talk about Milah particularly often. It’s difficult, and I’m not particularly keen on it.”

Immediately, Emma understands where she went wrong, and feels distinctly uncomfortable. God, she really stuck her foot in her mouth this time, didn’t she? “You don’t have to if you don’t want to – forget I asked.”

“No, no, as Liam reminded me, you didn’t mean badly. And since you’ve rather been forced into this set up – “

“I swear, M’s must have pulled this from a damned Hallmark movie – “

“ – forced into this setup, it’s only right that you know who you’ve been shoved into company with.” He takes a deep breath, like he’s steeling himself for what he’s about to say, and God, Emma feels like the shittiest human alive. “I was engaged. To the most wonderful woman. But then she died, right in my arms – an undiagnosed heart condition, they said. And I haven’t really put myself out there since. Something Liam likes to remind me, actually. Milah was just… she was my entire life. My world centered on making her happy. It’s hard to bounce back from that. That was one of the reason I moved here, actually –I needed to escape all the memories in Boston, and Liam already lived here. It was a natural choice. But I don’t talk about my Milah very often, because it makes me upset, and I desperately need to move on with my life. So I’m sorry that I stormed off on you earlier, Swan. It truly wasn’t something personal. I’m just… out of practice, talking about this.”

There’s probably a lot of things she should say, try to comfort him and whatnot. Any number of things would have been appropriate. But Emma’s not good with feelings – her own or others’. So instead, she blurts out a “How do you know Mary Margaret?” It’s a non sequitur, sure, but it’s the best she can do. Show that she doesn’t care or that his outburst doesn’t change anything or that she’s not judging him or… whatever.

He blinks a few times, clearly thrown, before grinning. Lucky for her, he apparently understands Emma’s sloppy attempts at connecting. “It’s a little bit of a stretch actually. Liam is a deputy at the police station with David, Mary Margaret’s husband. And I’m sure you know how she tries to take care of everyone. You’re the neighbor, right?”

“For better or worse. Today, it’s worse, I think.”

Jones – Killian laughs. He’s got a nice laugh, really. “I take it, based on the grumbling, this is one of the ‘worse’ days?”

“You bet your ass it is,” she mutters as another townsperson walks over. Thankfully, they just win a Granny’s coupon – no kiss – and actually seem to be pretty happy about that. “Mary Margaret has been great to me, but she’s just… so much. I’m not really big on Christmas, and definitely not big on setups.”

Interestingly, he focuses on her first point rather than her second. Emma is choosing to believe that means he agrees with her on the matchmaking front. “You’re not big on Christmas, Swan? Don’t tell me you’re some kind of Grinch.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I don’t actively _hate_ it, like a Grinch, I just… never really had a reason to go all out celebrating.” She pauses. After his deep, heartfelt story of lost love, she feels like he might deserve a little glimpse of herself. Quid pro quo or whatnot. “Growing up in the system, very few families actually made a big deal about the holiday for the kids in their care. Those few who did, I always kinda felt like an outsider, like the holiday wasn’t for me, somehow. Then ever since I aged out, it’s just been me, by myself. Hard to make a big deal of the holiday for yourself.”

Killian looks vaguely scandalized. Appalled, even. “Well, that simply won’t stand! You have to come to Liam and I’s yearly bash next week.”

“I don’t know…” she tries to start, but he’s butting back in.

“Ruby and Belle will be there, and so will Mary Margaret and David  – not to mention, my handsome self – so you can’t say you won’t know anyone. Plus…” He goes for the ear scratch again. God, that really is a nervous habit with him, isn’t it? “Plus, our first annual party was right after I moved to town, so I could meet everyone. Seems only right to pass it on.”

Emma has to admit, it is oddly poetic. She finds herself nodding an affirmative, almost without conscious thought. It’s worth it though, to see the way his face lights up when he realizes she’s accepted his invite.

“Excellent! I promise, Swan, you’ll have a hell of a time. Now, if I can recommend getting really back to work and attracting more people? I know our cash pull has been impressive, but I think we can rustle up even more. I must say, we make quite the team.”

She groans, dreading more kissing wheel contestants, but he does have a point – when it comes to this awful holiday tradition, at least, they make quite the team.

\------

The rest of the afternoon goes a lot more smoothly. After all their talk of the personal, conversation comes a lot easier between the two, and she actually finds herself enjoying his company. Beneath that cocky exterior really is a sweet man, she’s shocked and relieved to learn.

Most of their time is spent betting on who each approaching townsperson is looking to buy a kiss from. He’s pretty good at it, actually – guessing who is motivated by a crush, who is motivated by getting a laugh, and who just wants to pick whoever seems less scary (those always go his way – somehow, they prefer his charming smile to her scowl). The one exception to this is when Jefferson and Gracie swing by. Killian had seen the excitable seven-year-old and had automatically assumed his good looks would be more of a draw to a young girl. It’s gratifying, in some sort of hilarious way, to see the confusion on his face when Emma gives the little girl an enthusiastic smooch, and receives one in return. As the two stand together, cackling at Killian’s confused face, it finally dawns on him that he’s been had.

“Oh, that’s cheating, Swan, not telling me you knew the lass. Bad form, that.”

He is, however, able to overlook that small deception when he takes his second break (and is it really a deception, if he just made assumptions without full information that she didn’t bother to correct?) and brings her back a hot dog and onion rings from Granny’s booth when he returns, on the logic that “the lines are bloody awful, love, I’m just saving you the hassle.”

It’s weird. She didn’t want to like Killian, when Mary Margaret so clumsily threw him into her path, but she does. He’s got a good sense of humor and a competitive streak that rivals her own and fancies himself a gentleman, like he’s straight out of some ridiculous Regency romance or something.

Emma could overanalyze that, if she wanted to. Probably will when she gets home. But for now, she gratefully accepts the snack and moves to enjoy her own break.

\------

“So, when you gonna jump that hot piece of ass?”

Ruby, ever the picture of subtlety.

Belle, at least, has the decency to look shocked by her girlfriend’s actions. “Ruby!”

Unfortunately, Ruby will not be contained. “I’m, just saying, they’re getting pretty cozy now that they’re over whatever that spat was earlier. She could do a lot worse, you know.”

They both focus their attention on Emma at that moment, almost like they’ve been cued. “Well?” Ruby asks impatiently.

“He’s… not what I expected.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” God, somebody really needs to sign Ruby up for etiquette lessons.

Emma narrowly avoids rolling her eyes. “I don’t know, he’s just… he likes to act like he’s so cocky, you know? And he really isn’t. I totally thought he was going to be a dick, but…”

“But now you might get the dick?”

“ _Ruby!_ ” Belle hisses, clearly mortified, even if her partner isn’t. Turning to Emma in a clear attempt to move on from Ruby’s antics, she asks “So do you think you’ll go out with him sometime? Oh, Emma, I think you two could have such a lovely time together.” She quickly holds up a stern finger at the sight of Ruby’s smirk. “Do _not_ say ‘in bed’ or so help me God.”

Emma just shrugs. “I don’t know. I might go to his Christmas party, see what happens from there.”

And true, she still has a few more minutes and doesn’t strictly _have_ to leave right that second, but Emma still chooses to make her excuses and head back to her own booth. There’s only so many quips she can take from Ruby before she snaps.

\------

Before she knows it, the day is over, and she and Killian are gathering their things to leave. She’s almost sad – Emma may have been dreading this day for weeks, but Killian really made it almost bearable.

For some inconceivable reason, he almost looks nervous, scratching behind his ear yet again. “So… I know I mentioned our little holiday party earlier, but do you think you would like to come? I mean, you don’t have to but it’s a good time and there will be drinks if nothing else and –“

Emma quickly nods before his sentence can ramble any further.

His face lights up for a moment, before he devolves back into stuttering. “Ok! Yes. Good. Ok. Ok, well, I guess I’ll have Liam give an invite to David to give to you?”

“Yeah, that’ll work.”

There’s an awkward silence, their first in long while. Emma feels like they should be marking the end of this day somehow special, but she’s coming up with nothing. “So…” she finally breaks in. “I’ll see you around, then?”

He looks a little disappointed, but nods all the same. “Of course, Swan.” And then, the bastard, he lifts her hand to press a kiss to its back. “It’s been a pleasure, Emma.”

She barely manages to nod dumbly and mumble out a “You too” before she turns and leaves. Well, flees more like. But for once, it’s not out of some great fear of commitment or being left behind and disappointed. This time, it’s purely so she doesn’t say anything else that would make her look like a damn fool.

Her reaction probably isn’t ideal, but she’s standing behind it.

\------

She tries to focus all week. She really does. But the bar is shockingly slow for this time of year (hey, if she had a family, she’d probably be trying to escape them at the bar too) and TV is all reruns and Emma just can’t stop thinking about blue eyes and a kiss to the hand and the way that she really, _really_ wants to see him again.

She’ll never admit it out loud, of course. When Ruby or Mary Margaret mention the party, she grumbles like always (not looking forward to the party is accurate, at least – she’d rather be with him in her own empty apartment for more private celebrations, seasonal or otherwise, than at some ridiculous themed party). But she really wants to see him again. Which is weird, because Emma hates setups on principle. And the idea of Mary Margaret being all smug about the whole thing… ugh. So when she finally gives into the inevitability of thinking about Killian, she uses the time to prepare herself emotionally for the God awful sappy, smug, or downright inappropriate reactions she’s sure she’ll receive from everyone in her life.

\------

Saturday comes sooner than expected, despite the fact that the rest of the week seems to drag, and Emma finds herself prepping for a party. If Ruby was here, Emma is sure she would have been squeezed into some kind of skin-tight dress and stilettos, but Emma’s been left to her own sartorial devices, so a white sweater with boots it is. Hey, she’s going to wear her red leather jacket, that’s Christmasy enough.

For all of her confidence during the week, her determination to actually make a damn move, she can feel her boldness draining away the closer her Bug gets to Liam and Elsa’s little seaside cottage. By the time she reaches their door, holding a bottle of whiskey like some kind of armor (and let’s face it, she’ll probably need drinks to get through this night), Emma is about ready to turn tail and run. Before she can talk herself out of it, she rings the doorbell, hoping someone hears her over the din she can already hear through the door.

And of course, all her fears are put to rest the moment the door opens, because Killian looks positively thrilled to see her.

“Swan! You made it!”

“Yep, I’m here. Grinch spirit and all.” Before she can well and truly lose her nerve, she jerks a thumb back into the darkness. “Hey, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Killian looks a little confused, but apparently is willing anyways. “Sure, I suppose I can step away for a moment.”

They find a spot around the side of the house where it’s finally quiet enough for her to talk freely.

“Is anything the matter, love? I know you’re not big on Christmas but I promise there’s no more than two stupid games in there and there’s a few people you know and I really think –“

“Did you have fun the other day? At the booth? With me?” And oh, _that’s_ certainly smooth, well done Emma.

“Well, yes, surprisingly, I had a lovely time with you. Ridiculous games aside.”

“Do you want to have fun again?”

“Do I want to have fun again?”

“Yes. Fun. With me. In a setting that doesn’t involve a kissing wheel.”

His grin starts slow, but grows to stretch from ear to ear. “Emma, are you trying to ask me on a date?”

Part of Emma wants to protest, because she typically Does Not Do Dating. But she sucks it up, raises her chin, and answers a definitive “Yes. If you want.”

He scoffs. “If I want? Emma, I would have suggested our own version of the kissing wheel at the carnival if I didn’t think it would end poorly. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

Finally, the universe is working in her favor, because after a moment smiling goofily at one another, they move together simultaneously to share a kiss. A good kiss. A really, really great kiss that she’d be up for repeating every day of the week and extra on Sundays.

As they finally break apart to walk back inside the house hand and hand, Emma suddenly has perhaps the weirdest, craziest thought yet.

_Maybe she could get into this Christmas thing after all._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this one - I think wildly inappropriate Ruby may be my new favorite thing. Hope you enjoyed, and consider leaving kudos or comments - they make my day so much better!


End file.
